


Ten Days of Tenzo 2019

by FreakyPseudWriter



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Childish Ninjas, Comedy, Don't copy to another site, Graphic Description, High Fantasy, Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, Other, Playgrounds, Prompt Fic, Revenge, Ten Days of Tenzo, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-07-28 14:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20065912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakyPseudWriter/pseuds/FreakyPseudWriter
Summary: My entries for this year's "Ten Days of Tenzo" on Tumblr.To celebrate the tree lord properly and show my love to him, I just had to participate.





	1. First Prompt: Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate the tree lord properly and show my love to him, I just had to participate. Nothing like piling up some prompts on my already high pile of requests and WIPs than to add to my my misery even more ^^''

The coldness of the porcelain mask seemed to still rest on his face as he enters the stingy bar. A strange afterimage, reminding him of… Of… No. Not yet. He shook his head. Tonight, he would just forget, with the help of the famous drinks his senpai always praised. A tradition, the older boy had said, to have a little drink right after the first session an ANBU spent with the T&I unit.

_Blood. Screams. A scream, piercing through his usual calmness and cracking the mask underneath the mask._

Briefly, he asked himself if other children his age already knew what death looked like. That people pissed and shat their pants when they died, losing all control over their body functions when they feared for their lives. If other children his age knew what blood looked like, what broken bones looked like when they protruded through the skin, how a human being, just moments before alive and relatively well, could be all waxy and like a mere piece of meat just seconds after life left them.

Torture, even in the name of Konoha, definitely wasn’t Tenzo’s forte.

_Where is he? Where is he? Where IS he? Answer me!_

_No, please, I don’t know, I really don’t know-!_

He was only fourteen. Fourteen, he reminded himself, counted the winters and the summers he lived through. So small and scrawny he couldn’t even look over the bar, not to talk about slithering his thin body into the high stool right in front of it.

_He wanted to look away, but like at a terrific accident, he couldn’t. Couldn’t turn his head away from the accident right in front of him, the mangled and broken piece of body. Blood was splattered all over the ground, the screams had long dimmed to weak, hoarse whimpers. Fingers stretched out, broken and wrangled fingers, missing all their nails and in some cases, already some joints, and still clinging to life despite the broken grip._

_Or was it the torturer tying the victim to life, making sure it couldn’t escape into the mercifully darkness of death?_

The barkeeper wasn’t surprised to see a young teen at his bar. Probably, it happened a lot more than one would suspect that a lanky kid walked up to him, with the same desperate expression Tenzo wore currently. He was lost, _felt _lost. Drifting through space, without an anchor to ground him, searching for a little bit of substance and forgetting all the same.

_When her eyes met Tenzo’s, he thought she was begging him to kill her. He could almost hear her voice in his ear. Kill me, she pleaded, wordlessly, kill me. End my suffering. End ME._

_Please. Have mercy on me._

“The strongest sake you have,” Tenzo demanded, thin voice terribly young in comparison to some of the other shinobi around.

The barkeeper only nodded. Expert hands started to assemble everything necessary; a sake cup, flat and just deep enough to hold a few sips, a sake bottle, painted into a neutral brown, and the sake itself, chilled by the fridge right out of Tenzo’s line of sight.

_Don’t look away, his captain said, one hand on his shoulder and fingernails digging into the sensitive nerves. Don’t look away. This is another facet of being a shinobi._

_It didn’t help. When she finally died, something akin to relief on her bruised face, Tenzo tasted the puke on his tongue and in the back of his throat minutes before he even started to gag. He swore to himself that he would never become a part of the T&I unit. He would never make pain a tool to extract information, he would never distort another human being like that._

_Killing in battle was hard enough. This wasn’t a battle. This was cold calculation, and he wasn’t one to calculate that coldly when he was in the safety of Konoha’s walls._

At the other end of the bar, Tenzo could barely see the grey spikes of his senpai. The older boy noticed him too, toasted to him with a meek twitch of his wrist. The amber liquid nearly spilled over the rims of his glass, only to suddenly vanish into thin air. But Tenzo knew Kakashi had drunk everything in the matter of a split second, not caring about the fiery burn of undiluted alcohol or the cotton balls in his head.

When he looked around, there were other shinobi. Staring holes into the air while holding onto their glass like their lives depended on it, piling empty drinks in front of them and begging with barely slurred words for another, _just one more_, or the shinobi who were long passed out, snoring and unaware of their surroundings.

_Detriments to their task of protecting the village. A drunk shinobi couldn’t protect anyone, not even himself._

Or maybe, Tenzo thought, as he tasted the first drink of his young life, that was exactly the point. A tradition for the already worn-out, to forget and dream of better times, instead of torture and death.

Maybe, this particular tradition of a shinobi allowed such a slip-up once. Just… Just this once.


	2. Second Prompt: Second Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamato is missing something in his life, but he can't quite put his finger on it.   
Time for him to meet one of the more unusual groups meeting up in Konoha: The Playgroup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My weak attempt at something humorous, so, there's that.
> 
> I hope this willl make some people laugh and gives Yamato also some wholesome content.

The small things, Yamato decided a long time ago (back when he had next to nothing but to sleep in the cot above two other children in the middle of the forest) were worth living for. The tickle of sunshine on his nose when the day promised to be nice. The feeling of a butterfly settling down on his outstretched index finger. The fresh spring breeze caressing his arms when he wore short sleeves. The very small things, made for a body who had no name and no material property.

Later, when he wore, for some time, the name “Kinoe”, some new small things mixed into the pile. Putting on his freshly issued Anbu-uniform for the very first time. Sharpening his tanto until it was sharp enough to cut through body armor in a single slice. Letting his fingers run through the pages of the only book he owned, learning about architecture that he needed for his wood technique.

When he was “Tenzo”, old enough to enjoy alcohol, even more things were added. The burn of strong alcohol, a willing body in his bed, smoke in his lungs and the taste of ash on his tongue. Barely a teen, and he still could enjoy these small things. Small things, which were just there and were still worth living for.

When he finally became Yamato, he had lived past a lot of things. Wars, battles, death and torture. Being sucked dry for an immortal army made out of cells of the First Hokage… Truly, a fulfilling life. And still, when Yamato walked the streets of the freshly build Konohagakure, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was missing something, and all the small things which made him usually happy that he was alive didn’t work. He helped rebuild Konoha, shaped the landscape where future generations would live, and still…

Still, there was something missing. Something small and annoying, a mosquito bite in the back of his head. And he couldn’t just grasp it. When he couldn’t grasp it, he couldn’t do something about it and when he couldn’t do something about it, then it would just further annoy him!

Frustration dwelled now for a few weeks on his mind, but Yamato wasn’t someone to take it out on others nor to talk about his feelings. No, he would find the root of this evil on his own and then do something about it. Like always. Like he always did.

What was missing in his life? Finally, he had friends, a team which looked up to him, recognition and pride in the things he did. All he ever wished for.

The shrill laughter of children rung in his ear. Out of instinct, Yamato jumped out of the way of the gaggle of wildly playing and rowdy kids, all of them full of toothy smiles and innocent happiness. Untouched by the darkness of the life of a shinobi, unworried and not knowing that their lives could end with the next mission.

Was that it? For a few more minutes, he stared after the group of children, blinking in mild surprise when the realization dawned upon him. Was it really so easy? Was he missing a childhood he never had?

A childhood. When he really thought about it, he really never had one. There was no playing on a playground, hiding and seeking in the woods (the non-deathly variation of it, the more common one), no sneaking out to steal cookie dough and getting a stomach ache from it. There never had been anything like that, no freedom to live his life as a child. Only the test tube, green water all around him, or the darkness of the Anbu Ne. Nothing like this.

Was that really what he wanted? A second childhood, so late in his life?

Or, maybe more important, did he deserve one?

He asked several people that question. His senpai only snorted, before turning another page of one of his terribly written romances. Naruto only stared at him, eyes wide and apparently flummoxed to be even considered being a good advice-giver. Sai shrugged and advised him to read a few guides on midlife-crisis and its effects on men. Sakura was maybe the most helpful of all. The healer smiled in dim understanding of his situation, before handing him a pamphlet.

“A pamphlet?” Yamato asked and waved at her with the paper. “Really?”

All in all, the flyer looked boring and read just as straightforward as a mission report. Smooth paper. Beige, the same color as the walls of the Hokage Tower. The heading read, in bold, black letters: “The Playgroup”. Nothing more, nothing less. On the inside of the pamphlet were different activities listed, such as board games, nightly excursions to the city playgrounds, campfire in the woods and roasting marshmallows. On the other page, an address could be found, together with the simple and yet somehow intimidating message: “Meetings every Thursday. Bring your own gear.”

Nothing further detailed what exactly this “gear” would entail.

“Sakura?” Yamato asked again. “What is this?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” She was already too busy for her own good, scrambling through the desk in the small, cramped office she was given in the hospital. In one corner of the room was a small cod, the pillow and blanket wrinkled from usage. Soon, she would probably completely move into the hospital. After the war, Sakura had taken up the mantle of Tsunade, pouring more and more energy and time into the sick and injured of the village. Looking up from her desk, his student was still smiling, despite the obvious bags beneath her eyes. “It’s a group. For shinobi with the same… problem that you have.”

“There are others?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And they meet up in a group.”

“Every Thursday. Like the flyer says.”

“And they bring their own gear…?”

Sakura chuckled, like Yamato just asked the most ridiculous question in the whole wide world. “Aaah, yes. The wording is a bit unfortunate. Old habit, I guess. Bring some snacks and maybe something to drink, then you should be fine. Something non-acloholic!”

Yamato briefly asked himself if that shouldn’t also be written in the flyer (in big, fat letters, preferably in red or poisonous green), but decided not to ask further. Instead, he folded the pamphlet in half, then placed it securely in the pockets of his flak vest.

The Playgroup certainly was worth paying a visit, just to see if it would be enough to fill this strange void inside his mind.

~ X ~

Like this, Yamato found himself with a basket, filled to the brim with small, store-bought cupcakes and a bottle of clear water in front of the boringly normal door at the second level of the Hokage Tower. Nothing indicated that someone could be behind this door, not even a little whisper or faint sound. Was he too late?

No, he was perfectly punctual. Even overly punctual, twenty minutes before the actual meeting time. Just when Yamato wanted to push the door open, a hand reached out from behind him.

“Sorry,” a young kunoichi mumbled, eyes hidden underneath the Konoha forehead protector which reached all over her forehead into the first wisps of her bangs, “can I just…?”

“Sure,” Yamato stepped aside and watched how she quickly opened the door with an embarrassingly huge basket pressed to her side, “so, you’re also part of the-?”

“Playgroup? No... No, not yet.” She shook her head, the short bob swinging with the harsh motions. A package peeked over the rim of her basket. Store-bought cupcakes and a water bottle. The exact same brand and flavor of cupcake. The exact same brand of water.

_Well, better double than only one box._

“First time?” the kunoichi asked as she kicked the door open. Her steps weren’t faltering as she proceeded to walk inside.

Unbidden, Yamato followed. “Yes.”

“Mine too. What did you bring?”

“Cupcakes. Water.”

The kunoichi paused. Her teeth were lodged in her bottom lip and for a second, he worried that she would bite herself bloody. Then, she cocked her head to the side, the forehead protector staying firmly in place. “Oh. Oh well, nothing like cupcakes, I guess.”

“Right.” The room didn’t look like a round of playful shinobi hoping to revive their missing childhood would come in at any minute. The same boring beige walls, the windows revealing the late hour and darkness of the night, the chairs all stacked and pushed to the side and a small circle of tables in the middle of the room. Pretty standard, like they would receive in the next few minutes a mission.

“I think I will put my stuff right here,” the kunoichi propped the basket absent-mindedly onto the table-circle, “the others should probably show up in a minute or so.”

“Yes, probably.” Still looking around the room, Yamato placed his own basket beside hers. “If you don’t mind, may I ask for your name?”

The kunoichi didn’t answer immediately. He understood her pause and waited, still inspecting the room, the walls and everything else.

“My name,” she finally muttered, “is Akane.”

“Hello, Akane. My name is Yamato. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.”

The door opened again and more voices carried inside the room. “…and then I said to him: 'Don’t you dare use that damn punch on me, or we will have a problem!' Hey there, newcomers!”

“Hey.” Again, the kunoichi merely raised her head while shuffling through her basket.

Yamato turned, just in time to catch Genma flicking up his usual senbon, carrying a package of vanilla cupcakes (Yamato was screaming internally at this point) and a bottle of water. “Some new faces,” he special jonin greeted, “Yamato, right? And you’re…?”

“Akane.”

Yamato nodded at the other man. “And you’re Genma.”

From there on onward, the room filled steadily and Yamato had the opportunity to just lean back against a wall and watch while Genma immediately managed to snag all the attention for himself (not that any of the present shinobi minded much). With his loud and confident speech, the residual lopsided smirk and the senbon moving whenever he spoke, Yamato didn’t quite understand how this man needed to rekindle his childhood. But who knew what kind of scars he hid beneath his happy demeanor?

He wasn’t the one to judge that.

More shinobi dwindled in. Iruka, his flak vest oozing chalk powder everywhere (“A prank from the kids, they are getting more and more creative the more they learn.”), a few unknown faces, all of them clawing into their store-bought cupcakes and water bottles with the faces of people walking to their early demise, Kotetsu and Izumo, known as the Hokage-pets and immediately joining Iruka when they saw him, Aoba, who Yamato knew from their joint mission to protect Naruto while the Fourth Shinobi War waged and finally…

“Why didn’t you tell me you were also coming?” Yamato was fuming. There, smack in the middle of the doorway, stood his traitorous senpai, mask in place but not one bit hiding the teasing grin right underneath.

“Oh, really?” With a practiced gesture, Kakashi closed his dirty romance and strolled inside, in his arm (of course!) a package of vanilla cupcakes and a water bottle. “Must’ve dropped from my mind. Good to see you here, Tenzo.”

“I’m not Tenzo any longer!”

“Oh, but you will always be my cute little kouhai…”

Yamato buried his face in his hands, while laughter flared across the room. His senpai had the uncanny talent to pick the most embarrassing moments to make a fool out of him. To the tips of his ears, right down under the happuri, Yamato could feel the heat assembling like it was one of the hottest days in summer.

The center of attention wasn’t too long on him, though. Where Kakashi was, Gai wasn’t far away, so nobody even twitched when the loud, booming and exuberant voice of Kakashi’s self-proclaimed eternal rival echoed through the entire Hokage Tower. “KAKASHI! MY ETERNAL RIVAL! JUST YOU WAIT, MY YOUTH HASN’T DIMINISHED YET!”

And in wheeled Gai, the still not fully healed leg safely secured on the leg rest of his wheelchair, but the other raised like he wanted to immediately jump out of the confining space and challenge Kakashi for a marathon around the village. In his lap rested one of the biggest packages Yamato had ever set his eyes on, and a little bit of hope rose. Maybe, they didn’t have to live off vanilla cupcakes and water tonight.

The other shinobi also seemed to breathe in collectively when Gai waved with the package around, bright smile flashing through the room and lightening up even the farthest corner. “Hello there, dear fellow shinobi! Fear no hunger tonight! Mighty Gai, the blue beast of Konoha, has brought you one of the most delicious snacks mankind knows! Behold,” with a dramatic gesture fitting to be in a drama running in the afternoon on the TV, “I have brought you VANILLA cupcakes!”

Frustrated groans erupted all around the room.

_Great_, Yamato thought and tried to figure out if he was sneaky enough to hide his own vanilla cupcakes for the rest of the evening from a room full of high-level jonin and Anbu, _nothing screams “emotionally stunted and clueless shinobi” like vanilla cupcakes, I guess._

~ X ~

As it turned out, Iruka was something like the unofficial leader of The Playgroup. When they left the Hokage Tower, all of them armed with their water bottles and vanilla cupcakes, he explained briefly what this group meeting would entail in bringing all these shinobi a sense of the childhood they never experienced. A small introductory course, probably only recounted to bring the new shinobi who just joined the group to the same level as the others.

Tonight, they would visit the local playground. Hidden in the night, darkness falling over the village they had sworn to protect, the shinobi jumped onto the roofs to take the shortest route. When they arrived, a lot of them had “lost” their baskets of vanilla cupcakes along the way, and Yamato only held onto his because he didn’t like to waste food, even when the sugary frosting would probably make him sick to the bones.

“Alright!” The cheery Iruka-sensei clapped his hands and like ducklings following their mother, the twenty or so adults assembled around him. “As mentioned, tonight we’re going to play on the playground! Just watch out not to break anything, and no usage of jutsu here! I still remember the trouble we got because Kakashi-san tried to light up our campfire with a Fireball-jutsu and accidentally burned down a couple of trees, which some of the Aburame-insects settle in to mate.”

Kakashi shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Maa, it was an accident.”

“An accident, yes, but an expensive one. Three B-rank missions to find the exact same kind of saplings to replant the burned down trees. And the Hokage,” everyone froze like Tsunade could appear out of thin air, waving around one of her half-full sake bottles, before glancing again at the Copy-Ninja, “explicitly stated that another incident would probably prompt her last order to be to cut our already low funds to zero. Now, go off! Have fun and remember,” Iruka wagged his finger at the group like they were still in his classroom, snotty-nosed and up to mischief, “not to break anything!”

For mere moments, they all stood around, not knowing what to do with themselves. To be suddenly set free like this, released into the wild and onto the playground didn’t feel right. But then, Kakashi strolled (a huge surprise) up to the monkey-bars, with his hands firmly grasped around the handles of Gai’s wheelchair. This set off a hesitant reaction in The Playgroup. The shinobi dispersed, one by one by one, and descended upon the playground like vultures upon a dead animal.

The merry-go-round almost immediately caught the interest of Izumo and Kotetsu. Yamato watched them for a bit as he was swinging lazily on the swings, how they whispered among each other. Then, the two chunin turned to the whole group and exclaimed: “Whoever can hold on the longest to the merry-go-round wins a free rewrite of their next mission report!”

The words “free rewrite” in combination with “mission report” immediately caught the intense attention of the entirety of The Playgroup. Jonin weren’t exactly known to have the most patience when it came to the paperwork, to the despair of the workers at the mission desk. The prize the Hokage-pets was to some of them more worthy than gold. It was no miracle that the seats of the small, old merry-go-round were cramped before the chunin even closed their mouths. Genma was one of them, senbon flicking up and down as he stared at the other challengers, teasing and mocking them with his superiority.

Kakashi only stood in front of the monkey bars, hands in the pockets of his pants and seemingly more bored than anything else, but his eyes were intently set on Gai. Despite his severe injury, the energetic man was already reaching for the bars several meters above his head, shouting challenges at his rival and more speeches about his springtime of youth.

Aoba seemed to be intrigued by the jungle gym, a terribly feeble construction, the highest out of all buildings on the playground, just like a few other shinobi. Together, the smaller group of five men and women set off to slowly test out the slide connected to the jungle gym, climbing up and down and squeezing their adult-bodies through openings which were clearly made for children.

“Should I push you?”

Akane had sneaked up on him. The kunoichi’s face didn’t show one bit what was going on behind it. Not even a twitch of her mouth showed Yamato if she was serious or not.

_Oh well, here goes nothing._

“Sure,” he answered, “if you don’t mind…?”

“No worries.” Her hands in his back were warm, almost unnaturally so, but her push was gentler than anticipated. Merely a little shove, making the swing arch, freeze for a second at the highest point (merely a meter above the ground), before swinging back into Akane’s waiting hands.

So far, so good. Yamato gripped the chains holding the swing tighter as he was again pushed forward and the tiniest bit higher. Now, would this meeting on the playground really help him to find what he was missing?

~ X ~

The competition on the merry-go-round was on. Six grown shinobi, all determined to not do any of their reports, glared at each other. Izumo and Kotetsu gripped the railings on the outside, threw each other a just as triumphant and just as mischievous look, before channeling chakra in their hands. Before Iruka could do more than shout at them, both chunin started to spin the children’s carousel, far faster than it was probably intended.

The contours of the shinobi instantly blurred with the speed. Surprised screams echoed through the air, together with the first competitor who didn’t have the same reflexes as the others. A dark shadow flashed through the air and the man landed face-first in the sand. Cursing and spitting out crumbs, he got onto all fours, all the while Izumo and Kotetsu had the time of their lives torturing their superiors.

Like a devilish spinning top, the merry-go-round turned. And turned, turned, turned, round and round and round, so quickly that Yamato already got sick from watching this insanity. For now, he would really stick more to the swings, especially as long as the two chunin had their hands on the railing.

Gai managed to get a hold of the first bar. Without breaking into a sweat, he hoisted himself up on top of the monkey bars, his healthy leg hooked somehow into his wheelchair. The heavy chair basically was kicked into the air, artistically twisting and turning. Gai’s loud laughter boomed over the playground. One, two swings, then the man joined his wheelchair. Like two deranged, yet incredibly happy circus artists, the object and the man flew, twisted and turned a little bit more, throwing in one flip and two twirls, only for the wheelchair to land with a heavy ‘thumb’ right on top of the monkey bars, perfectly balanced. Gai landed only a split second after that ‘thumb’ in his chair, still laughing and already striking a pose.

“Did you see that, my eternal rival? How youthful, to be on top of the monkey bars and oversee the happenings of this playground! What do you say? How about one of our challenges? Who will be the last one standing on this truly youthful ground of the young sprouts, where they can train and better themselves, and find their own eternal rivals for them to blossom into the finest shinobi of Konoha! No, what am I saying? Of course, they will grow to be the finest shinobi of the entire Fire Country!”

A few silent moments passed, in which Gai’s bright smile even seemed to chase away the dark shadows of the night, then Kakashi’s head twitched up. “Hm? Did you say something?”

“Damn you, Kakashi! How dare you to be so hip and cool! I still have a lot to learn from you, my eternal rival, but don’t you forget that just because you will be the next Hokage, I won’t give up!”

“Maa, Gai, don’t remind me. Fine, a challenge it will be.”

“YOSH! Kakashi, you fill me with pride to be your eternal rival! So, what do you say about,” another blinding grin full of brimming self-confidence, “a test of balance? Whoever is the last one standing on top of this truly youthful construction, shall be declared the winner!”

“With foul play?”

“What a question! Of course, we’re using all of our skills to win! Are we rivals or not?”

“Good.” In the blink of an eye, Kakashi stood on the other end of the monkey bars, easily balancing on one leg. “I’m looking forward to win once more.”

Gai grinned wildly, only to jerk his wheelchair into doing a truly dangerous-looking wheelie. “That’s the spirit! Yosh, I can feel my springtime of youth running through my veins! On three, two, one, start!”

The shinobi playing on the jungle gym still tried to figure out the purpose of the slide. None of them trusted the thing to actually safely guide them onto the ground. All of them used chakra to stick themselves to the surface. Of course, this betrayed the very purpose of a slide, which made the shinobi more and more confused as well as a tiny bit frustrated.

In the end, it was Aoba (who came from a civilian family), who gave the Anbu a little tip how to properly use the slide.

“Guys, just let go of your chakra! It’s more fun that way!”

A woman, hair as dark as the night around them, was sitting currently on top. One skeptical look at the special-jonin, then, she exhaled loudly and made the conscious effort to let go of her restraints.

Nothing happened.

“I don’t feel any fun,” she growled and showed some untypically long incisors, “why isn’t it any fun!?”

“Push yourself further down!” Aoba called out, glasses pushed up to his forehead. “The fun will come along the way!”

The woman’s nose wrinkled up, but she did as she was told. A few more wiggles, a few more careful inches forward, then…

A little squeal echoed through the air as gravity, the slippery slope of the slide and physics claimed her. Arms flailed, legs were thrown into the air, and at the end of the ride, the woman was almost catapulted into the sand, two meters away from the end of the slide at least. Only with a barely inhuman twist of her body, she managed to land on her feet, only to turn around and glare at Aoba and the rest of the group, who only stared with bewildered amusement at her.

“What the fuck was that!?”

The poor Aoba raised his hands in defense. “Your first slide ride, I guess…?”

“That was insane! But I doubt that without chakra, I would’ve made it.”

“Wait, did you use chakra to push yourself down the slide…?”

A wild grin split her features. “Of course! And it was fucking fun! Let me do it again, I bet I can get farther than this!”

Needless to say, the other Anbu beat her to the right for the next ride on the suddenly very popular slide.

Yamato could oversee the chaos from the swing. Well, at one point of the swing. By now, it would reach its vantage point at least two meters above the ground, and in the back of his mind, the man asked himself if that was really a good thing to have a swing which could reach such high heights to stand on a playground meant for civilian children.

He swung backwards, froze momentarily in the air, felt Akane’s mere fingertips sliding against his backside and was pushed with the force of a wind-jutsu forward. The night air forced little tears into his eyes as he shot for - and - upwards, higher and higher into the air, only to freeze again up for just a split second. His stomach curled, but not out of nausea or anything like that. No, it was something else, something _entirely_ else, something light and tingly, something mighty and breaking through his entire body.

“Do you want to go higher?” Akane’s soft voice broke through the haze of height and speed.

Did he want to go higher?

“Yeah, sure? If that is alright with you?” His words were surely ripped away by the wind howling past him, at least Yamato felt like it, but Akane apparently understood nevertheless. Her warm giggle made him smile as well. An easy, wide smile. A smile he had never worn before.

“Then hold onto your seat! We’re going higher!”

~ X ~

“Kotetsu?” Iruka stood close by the merry-go-round. The shrieks of sheer excitement were good signs, he knew, but the teacher was still worrying at the sheer speed of this hellish thing. “Is that really alright?”

“Sure!” His friend was grinning from one ear to the other. “Look at them! They’re having fun, right?”

“Yeah… But… They are thrown off the merry-go-round.”

“And?”

“Momosuke-kun swallowed some sand.”

“Baah, he should’ve channeled his chakra like the others to stick to his seat.”

From the other side, Izumo screamed over the excited hollering of the three remaining competitors. “Don’t worry too much! Look, they-!”

A curse, more hollering, and Iruka had to jump aside as another shinobi lost his grip onto the spinning top. Like a stone ditching over the calm surface of water, the body ditched over the sand, nearly all across the playground. She was only stopped by the fence surrounding everything.

“Does she look alright to you guys?” Iruka watched the kunoichi slowly standing up. Well, trying to stand up. Her fingers clawed full of desperate force into the mesh, body swaying from side to side and knees trembling still.

Kotetsu spared her another glance before giving the merry-go-round another push. “She’s basically life itself. Don’t worry!”

_All the more reason to worry_, Iruka thought and tried to plan for the worst of the worst happening right in front of him, while avoiding the next bucked-off jonin flying through the air and nearly crashing into Kakashi.

The body flying towards the two rivals was nothing but a mere pebble in the way of their challenge. As Kakashi jumped over the still spinning shinobi, Gai reached into the bag clasped to the side of his wheelchair.

“Hah, how youthful! I expect nothing less from my eternal rival!” he shouted on the top of his lungs. “But can you also handle this?”

A barrage of dull training shuriken flashed through the darkness. Kakashi, who was still in the middle of the air, formed quick seals. Chakra flooded through him. Another twist in the air, barely avoiding all shuriken, and he landed again safely on the monkey bars.

He raised one eyebrow. “Is that everything?”

“Of course not! I still have-! OHO!”

More dull shuriken zipped through the night. Gai grinned, flexed his forearms, only to hoist his entire body out of the still barely balancing wheelchair. A spin, and the shuriken fell to the ground, deflected by the jonin.

“Aha! Your fighting spirit shines through! I will take you head-on Kakashi, just you wait!”

At the slide, a battle between the Anbu had broken out. Whoever managed to catapult themselves the farthest would win a free evening at one of Konoha’s bars, and alcohol was definitely another good motivator for the merciless, faceless elite-unit of the shinobi village. Currently, the first kunoichi was leading by a margin, right before a small, stocky man with a long face, but with the brightest and loudest laugh of them all when he flew through the air.

Aoba, for the purpose of keeping track of the unofficial leaderboard, had taken a seat right on top of the jungle gym. His feet dangled over the heads of the waiting and a little bit bickering shinobi (everyone wanted to be the next on the slide) while he watched them, a little grin tugging at his mouth.

For merciless killer machines, the Anbu’s surely looked like they were enjoying themselves.

“Higher?” Akane asked, no, shouted at him. Yamato felt the strange lightness flooding his limbs again as he reached the highest point. His back was by now parallel to the ground, he knew, felt the axis of the world turn, before he swung backwards.

“Yes!” he screamed back. His voice was laced with the grin constantly plastered to his face. Damn, the muscles of his mouth actually hurt already from the extensive exercise!

Another mighty push, definitely fueled with chakra and Yamato flew even higher. The world tumbled around him, the feeling of flying and being weightless returned.

_A little bit more_, he caught himself thinking, _just a little bit more_, then he could maybe swing all around the pole holding the swing up, right…? A looping should be possible?

“Akane-san? Can you push me again? Much higher?”

“Sure!” Her soft laugh only added to the tingles in his stomach.

~ X ~

“Izumo, this looks really dangerous by now.”

“Naaah, they are fine.”

“Izumo. Yui-san was thrown off.”

“I saw that.”

“She flew right into Ryuoji-san. Barreled right into him.”

“Yep.”

“Izumo. _Izumo_, look at me. Ryouji-san is puking his guts out. Yui-san has a bloody nose.”

“Child’s play for these high and mighty shinobi. Will teach them a lesson to mess with us.”

“Yeah! How dare they write such ineligible reports!”

“… _Kotetsu_… Is that what this is about…?”

The man with the bandages crossing over his nose could feel more than see the cold fury radiating off the teacher. A drop of sweat ran down the side of his face as he searched for an excuse, but couldn’t find any. “Maybe?”

“What the-? Get Genma off of there, he will spread his dinner all over the playground!”

“… What would you say if I say that the merry-go-round is maybe a bit too fast to be stopped now…?”

“YOSH, my rival! You’re as youthful as ever!”

“Same to you Gai. Same to you.”

“Now, are we done testing each other with these puny weapons?”

“I sure hope we are.”

“My eternal rival, you’re speaking directly to my hotblooded, youthful soul! Well then. Front Lotus of Konoha!” Gai laughed as he again pushed himself and his massive body into the air, just like Kakashi, who was grinning underneath his mask.

“Shadow clone-no-jutsu!”

“Hey, raven-boy!”

“Yeah?”

“Quit sitting on your lookout like a damn bird and move your ass! I’m sure I jumped further than this stupid dwarf here!”

“Stop spitting nonsense! Here, your ass clearly touched the ground here and we said that the first touch on the earth counts!”

“Bullshit! Just use your darn eyes! My ass is here, but my face landed right here! I still have the sand stuck in my hair to prove it!”

Aoba sighed a little bit, all the while shaking his head. Oh well, nothing like the present. One last look at the clear, full moon, and he jumped down to escalate the fight between the stocky man and the woman with the terrifyingly long incisors, which she bared them in a challenge.

“Yamato?”

“Yeah?”

Wind howled right past his ears. Laughter bubbled unashamed in his chest as he was again swung into the dark night-sky. Almost, so close to do the full looping around the pole. Yamato swung back, his laughter breaking out, feet swinging wildly and body sticking to the seat.

Thank the gods for his chakra control.

“You want to get around there, yes?”

“Yes!”

“Will you let me try something?” Akane was up to something, that much was clear.

Not thinking at all about it, Yamato screamed back. “Do it!”

A real smile flashed over Akane’s face as she formed a few, quick seals. “Alright! Prepare yourself and hold on tight! This will be a wild ride!”

Her Byakuugan, hidden beneath the headband activated. She waited, assessed, timed and then-!

“Gentle Fist: Eight Trigrams Air Palm!”

Yamato flew high. Higher and higher, turned almost in slow-motion over. Everything seemed slowed down, the earth above him and the sky at his feet. Led by the chains, the swing rolled around, almost stopped right above the pole. A little push, then, the swing fell towards the earth and Yamato screamed out in pure, unaltered joy. A wordless scream, howling with laughter and excitement of having done the almost impossible.

He zoomed past Akane, who watched, with a just as wide grin as his own, her handiwork.

“This is awesome!” he screamed. “Thank you!”

Yes. This was exactly what he had been missing.

~ X ~

Iruka scowled while massaging his temples. “Alright,” his scowl deepened, “no casualties like last time. That’s a plus. A plus, come on, Iruka. That’s a damn _plus_.”

“We’re sorry Iruka!” Izumo and Kotetsu sing-songed in unison. Both of them didn’t look guilty at all, even sneakily handed out low fives to each other when the merry-go-round finally came to a stop and released the last man standing from his torture. Even if Genma had won, he really didn’t look like a winner. No, the frothing and heaving shinobi really didn’t look like he enjoyed his victory.

“You two will clean up the playground around here!”

“Oh, come on, Iruka! It’s not our fault they constantly tease us about being basically secretaries for the Hokage.”

“Yeah! We just had to give them some payback!”

“Enough! Look at this chaos!” Iruka gestured all over the playground. “Look! Gai and Kakashi threw training shuriken all over the place! Even when they’re dulled, we can’t leave them lying around for children to find them! We’re goddamn lucky they both held themselves a little bit back in their challenge, otherwise we probably had to rebuild the whole place! Look at the jungle gym! The slide is totally wrecked from all the chakra-fueled pushes! There are dents on top and at the end! We can’t leave it like this!”

Still swaying slightly on his unsteady legs, Yamato and Akane joined the lecture right at the end. He had thrown an arm over her shoulder, the ever-present grin still not fading.

Immediately, Iruka pointed at them both, in front of the entirety of The Playgroup. “Only our newest members had some restraint. They didn’t damage anything. Or did you?”

“Not that we’re aware of,” Akane giggled, “but the swing should be still intact. I only used half of my strength for my Air Palm.”

The teacher threw his hands into the air. “Thank the gods. Finally, at least two people with some self-restraint.”

“Calm down Iruka-sensei,” Aoba walked over, glasses firmly back in place, “at least, it’s not as bad as the last time. And nothing can top the Monopoly-incident.”

For a second, Iruka was still huffing and puffing in anger. Then, like his anger disintegrated into thin air, his shoulders slumped forward. “Yeah,” he mumbled, rubbed his forehead and sighed, “yeah. You’re right. Nothing is as bad as the Monopoly-incident.”

Yamato was once too high on endorphins to ask for the ominous “Monopoly-incident” and second too scared to find out what exactly happened. His partner in crime seemed to feel the same way, humming under her breath and swaying slightly from side to side.

Suddenly, her head flinched upwards. “Oh. I thought they were already out of season.”

“What?”

Instead of an answer, she pointed upwards. Yamato followed her gesture and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. Fireflies. Hundreds and hundreds of fireflies. Like fallen stars, they drifted through the night, glowing faintly in the darkness. Even Iruka stopped lowly moaning about the chaos and looked upwards alongside the others, all of them entranced in the dance of the insects.

A truly beautiful sight.

“I think I get it now,” he breathed out, “why this group is a good idea.”

“Mhm.” Her hand slung over his shoulder squeezed his muscle, a gentle, reaffirming touch. “Me too. Absolutely.”

They all deserved a second childhood. And with the potentially short life of a shinobi, if not now, when should they catch up then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread by the awesome Chisie <3


	3. Third Prompt: Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for revenge is due.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was not only inspired by the prompt "Destiny" but also by the wonderfully haunting art of evartandadam ["The Beheading of Orochimaru"](https://evartandadam.tumblr.com/post/184067144509/the-beheading-of-orochimaru-a-really-fun-cm-for) .

The fight had been hard. Intense. Long. Yamato still heaved, chest raising and lowering, drawing precious air in and pushing it just as far as out. Beside him stood Anko, who was just as much out of breath. Like she felt his glance, the fierce woman turned her head into his direction and answered the silent question with a little nod.

Relief spread like a vortex through him. All-consuming, washing everything else away. He wanted to crumble, fall to his knees, cry out, go home, shower, never think of this day again and dream about it at the same time. Yamato nodded back at her, a little, dry smile tugging at his mouth.

It would be all over soon.

After the war, there had been so much chaos. Chaos in rebuilding Konoha, chaos in establishing new connections between the villages, chaos in the juridical system. So much chaos, in fact, that two of the worst defects of Konohagakure got off the hook almost without any recuperations for years of killing, experimenting on humans and torture. Inhuman, endless torture. When Yamato witnessed how absolutely comical the punishment for his former imprisoner was, he had stayed for a week all alone in the woods, otherwise he would’ve shouted at the first person asking him about this unfairness. Or the first person who dared to look into his general direction, with this unbearable, pitiful look in their eyes he got to know all too well during the process, when Yamato had to speak about the tortures of being subjected to while he was injected with a DNA he never wanted and had a very high risk of killing him before he reached his third year.

The shady defender, issued by the civil council members Homura and Koharu, had filed his report about his first years in Orochimaru’s underground base under “not relevant”, due to the fact Orochimaru never _personally_ experimented on him. A causality, nothing more. The defender even dared to say: “Well, these experiments surely turned out well for you, so you should be here to thank him, not speak against your benefactor.”

Yamato wanted to strangle this stupidly grinning man. If not for having the guts to defend Orochimaru, but for actually saying _that_… To demand a “thank you” for the man who subjected his childish body to one of the most painful procedures, even if it hadn’t been a _personal_ surgery, was the epitome of entitlement.

Anko had also been there that day, had talked about her involvement with Orochimaru, how he tempted her, gaslighted her, turned her against the village without actually turning her, only for her report to be also brushed aside and thrown aside for the “many discoveries Orochimaru made in order to protect his home, his village, just like any other shinobi would’ve done, no matter what it would cost”.

One look when the final verdict was spoken. One look was all they both needed to speak to each other, wordlessly and without a need for them. The pain, the confusion, the absolute horrid realization that Orochimaru would walk free once more. One look was all what it needed for them to come together afterwards, in the dark of the night, to drink and talk, talk and drink.

(And talk, they did.)

Months of planning, training, waiting. Years of laying low, of telling everyone that the verdict was nothing but unfortunate, that Orochimaru would _sometime somehow_ get his deserved punishment. Eventually, the people seemed to forget what had happened. Forgot the biggest injustice of them all, forgot how many lives the traitor had destroyed, how many children he had killed, how many wounds he had caused. And eventually, even Orochimaru seemed to forget that the freedom he had achieved that day through his connections and the greed of people who never suffered by his pale, bloody hands, could be taken away from him.

All the secrecy of their stealthy occupation was poured into secret meetings. Their secret messages to establish a meeting point consisted of a complicated new code, only existing between them. Two wronged people. Wronged by the system and the injustice. Anko tended to joke about their destiny to work together, especially when she had one too many drinks. That they had been cast aside by their failure of a system, to rot with their feelings in the gutters, together with all the other victims of Orochimaru. No closure, no knowledge that he would someday suffer for his crimes.

Maybe, this really had been their destiny. Yamato liked to believe that, but only from the exact moment when he was appointed as the personal guard slash drone to watch over Orochimaru. To think that the council would even consider his name, knowing how much he loathed the man… They had far more trust in his loyalty and orders to the village than he actually possessed.

As soon as he could hide himself away from the world, he sent a short message to Anko. Just two words. _It begins._

She didn’t need any more than that.

Which led them to today. Yamato was tasked to ask something of Orochimaru, something about his clone-program and check up on him just in case that the sannin returned to his old practices (he didn’t, or he just learned to hide the stink of blood and mangled corpses better than before). Orochimaru had overtaken a new body only a few days before and still grew accustomed to the new limbs and foreign chakra-system. A lonely corner of the layer, nothing else was necessary. The summoning seal had burned under Yamato’s skin in raw anticipation. Anko’s feelings were just as intense as the woman herself, and he was glad they were only channeled partly through the ink.

As stated, the battle had been exhausting. But the longer Yamato had been alive, the greater was his control over the wood release and Anko had significantly raised her skills. Their combined efforts, born out of years of preparation and training together, together with the residual weakness and lacking control over his struggling body, sealed Orochimaru’s fate.

No one came for him. No one looked for him. Even his oh-so-loyal assistant’s apparently left him alone when he most needed them. The cursed sword Kusanagi laid on the ground, still dripping spittle, strips of Orochimaru’s hakama were torn off and strewn all over the place. And in the middle of this chaos, the beaten and broken Orochimaru, still gasping for breath. Out of chakra, missing an arm, blood covering the walls and ground.

“Janken?” Anko already had raised her curled fist, her eyes never leaving Orochimaru.

“Sure.” Yamato raised his own hand.

(At one of their meetings, when they had discussed the actual possibility of beating him, they also talked about who got the honor to actually do the deed. Yamato joked about deciding it on a whim by playing Janken. So, this one was on him.)

Without looking at each other, not even saying one word, they played the game. One – two – three. Orochimaru whimpered, tried to crawl towards them, but the thick root, just as thick as his own leg, tightened around his body middle.

Paper and stone. Yamato’s stomach quivered. _One more. Then he could…_

Again. Two stones. And again. A scissor and paper. Tie. The next one would decide.

“You don’t have to-!”

“Shut the fuck up, Oro.” Anko clicked her tongue. “Alright. This one counts and no backing out.”

Again. One last time. Up, down, up, down. A stone from him and from Anko…

Her grin was feral, wild, enjoying herself. “What do you say to that, huh? Your ass is mine now.”

They also talked about their next steps. Orochimaru was still trembling, losing blood, eyes wide as his mind tried to comprehend what was going on, what was happening

“I will try not to enjoy it too much,” Anko bared her teeth, picked up Kusanagi before she grimaced. “I never understood why you had to store that thing in your mouth.”

“Anko… You don’t really want this…”

Without further ado (they had waited way, way too long for this) the kunoichi settled the sharp sword to her sensei’s neck. Yamato tightened his hold around him, strengthened the wood. No way this snake would slither away again. Only over his own, dead, body.

“See you in hell, sensei.” She didn’t even leave him time to protest, to beg or plead. Anko just pulled at the sword, pulled the sharp edge through Orochimaru’s neck. More blood splattered, the man gurgled in pitiful whines and whimpers, the sick, sweet sound of flesh tearing under steel echoed through the lab.

A few more seconds, and it was over. Orochimaru’s head toppled to the floor, beheaded by his own sword, handled by his own betrayed student and his very own human experiment. Instantly, Yamato formed seals, squashed the last bits of Orochimaru’s body in earth and water. Nothing would be left of him. Nothing left than his own memories of a time swimming in sickly green water and waiting to see the sunlight again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread by the awesome Chisie! <3


	4. Fourth Prompt: Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names are a fickle thing, so closely related to the personality of a person.

What was a name but simply a random order of letters, given to everyone to make them all unique? As weapons, tools for the village, they didn’t need any. They were just like another set of kunai, brand new, right off the anvil, still shining and sharp in the sunlight. And who in their right mind would name some kunai?

In the tube, swimming in the sickly green water and waiting for… For anything and nothing. But at the same time, he waited patiently. Waited for something to happen, waited for someone to come by and free him, waited for someone to come and do whatever they wanted to do with him, waited for someone to kill him.

(Not that he had a name for ‘death’ in his mind. He didn’t even count three years at that point, the concept of fading away was totally foreign to him.)

When he felt the sunlight on his skin again, he followed a man with the name Danzo. Old, walking on a stick and one of his arms obviously hurt, but strength oozed from him. He gave the small boy for the first time a name, even when it was only a temporary one. After training, after he earned it, after bringing the strange power he now had to call his own under his control.

Kinoe. From the many short-lived ones out of his Anbu Ne time, this one survived over the duration of a few missions and stuck with him the longest. Apart from that, he also liked it. The sound, the combination of letters, the way the ‘K’ lingered on his tongue and lips even when he already closed his mouth again. However, he didn’t like the memories coming along with the name. So much darkness, so many kills. So little to be happy about.

Years went by, and with the years a long list of names. Names he liked more than others, names he disliked, and names he downright hated with a passion and wished to never have worn them. During that time of change, he was ordered to join the Anbu-forces. After he defied Danzo, after he decided to not steal Kakashi’s Sharingan, after he was saved by Kakashi, he was free to choose his own name, for the very first time.

He went with ‘Tenzo’. Tenzo, a name he had worn before, and the teenager slipped into his old identity like a well-worn coat. It felt right to be called Tenzo again. Tenzo was, for the first time, a ray of gray in the darkness. Not a blinding light, just several shades lighter breaking through the night. In a sense, it was the closest to happiness he ever knew. Also, the sound of the name still made him smile a bit, after all these years. It reminded him of his beginnings. Of his healing, of his recovering and learning what it meant to fight alongside comrades, what it meant to fight in a team. His first friend, even though Kakashi would snort in weak amusement when he would call him that, was also in the Anbu. He found him there, a very first friend he didn’t have to kill with his own two hands when the order would come.

And he met him again. After Kakashi left Anbu on the order of the Hokage to train new genin, years of Tenzo working in the shadows, he was also ordered to join the former Team 7, now Team Kakashi as their leader. This time, he was assigned the name ‘Yamato’. At first, the name didn’t seem to fit right. A bit too long, a bit too loud. Not the instant-gratification when he had taken over ‘Tenzo’ again.

It took him a few weeks to become Yamato. Truly become one with the name (or was the name becoming a part of him?), and it took Yamato even more time to be comfortable in his own, new name. But slowly, gradually, without him even noticing, Yamato grew on him. This… this man, wearing the green flak vest of Konoha, living in the daylight, leading Team 7 with his own methods, scaring Naruto, talking to Sakura, exchanging silent, knowing looks with Sai. Yamato was so different than Tenzo ever was and so much entirely different than Kinoe could ever be. Friendlier, brighter, more talkative.

He liked Yamato, the man he became with this name. And only years later, he realized that he and Yamato weren’t separate entities any longer. They weren’t working together as two people any longer. They were one. He truly was Yamato. Not a boy without a name, not Kinoe, not Tenzo.

Yamato smiled at the thought. Yeah, he liked the man that he became.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proofread by Chisie <3 Thank you so much!


	5. Fifth Prompt: Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together with a group of friends, Yamato travels into the Deep Forest to see Yggdrasil, the World Tree. He doesn't know what urges him to go there but the magic in his blood which isn't his tells him to return to the source. He fears for the worst, but encounters the best possible outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled at first so much and couldn't decide if I would go for a mix between a D&D-campaign and the in-storyline or a Harry Potter AU. Well, in the end it became none of that ^^''
> 
> (I like it still so much.)

They were travelling for two weeks when they finally reached the middle of the Deep Forest. Yamato sighed in relief when the bushes, underwood and blackberry thorns eased up, grew less and less, only to suddenly spit their small group onto the wide clearing.

Naruto was the first one to sink into the soft, plush grass, crying silently and howling about the “evil woods with their evil, evil thorns”. During his mindless babbling, the young warrior carelessly stripped the heavy broadsword off his back, each piece of his rough and crude armor clinking against each other. A cacophony of metal, in such a serene setting such as the middle of the Deep Forest.

Sasuke only added insult to the injury. With a weak scowl on his face (Yamato believed by now that the teen only had two available expressions: scowling and snarling), he kicked his supposedly best friend in the side. “Shut up, moron. Everyone suffered the same.”

“You didn’t! You burned the blackberry bushes down! Here, you even singed me a bit!” Naruto pointed at an indeed darkened patch of his bright orange-black coat.

Their healer was already glaring at them. Yamato quickly turned away, just in time to avoid the sight of Sakura’s surprising strength hauling Naruto up and throwing him over the clearing, demanding him to man up and get his act together, only to turn around and hiss at Sasuke, too. Usually, the two of them bickering and play-fighting was a sight to see, but today, Yamato had a reason to avoid looking at the fight.

The reason why they came. Yggdrasil. The tree whose roots reached so deep into the earth and whose branches grew so high into the sky that rumors said that he connected different worlds with each other. Well, the rumors were true. Above them, the crown of Yggdrasil branched out into thousands and thousands of more branches, twigs and leaves. Branches as wide as the paved road which led right into the heart of the big city Konohagakure where they started their quest. Twigs as thick as an orc’s body and probably just as strong. And leaves; leaves big enough to cover the roof of a farmer’s house. The tree trunk couldn’t be even called “trunk” anymore, at least, the word didn’t seem to fit at all. Yggdrasil’s main body didn’t seem to end, neither in height or width. Yamato was pretty sure that not even a hundred men could build a chain long enough to reach around, and maybe not even a thousand men would be enough.

He felt the raw magic power radiating through the tree, had felt it for the last five days. Pulsating through the trees around them, with their own slow heartbeat. Out of instinct, he always had matched his steps to the rhythm, to the point his comrades had teased him about his slow speed. The Deep Forest was as wide as it promised, with monsters powerful enough to protect Yggdrasil from ignorant adventurers who thought they could take a souvenir from the World-tree. It took a long time to travel through the woods, and Yamato’s slow speed and careful steps didn’t make the way go by faster.

He couldn’t help it. Yggdrasil had called out to him. Demanded to be heard, ordered Yamato to come. Without a doubt, it was fate that he should be here.

Just in time. This night would be full moon. Somehow, this seemed like the appropriate time to arrive, to communicate with the biggest of all trees.

“And?” Kakashi’s voice ripped Yamato out of his deep thoughts. “Is it like you imagined, Tenzo?”

“That’s not my name anymore.”

“Oh, it will always be your name in my mind.”

Years had passed since they worked together in the King’s Guard, but his superior and captain wouldn’t let his old name go. Yamato shook his head, but flashed a quick, tired smile at him. “Should I call you again Inu, then? Should I get out my old mask, too?”

“Maa, I get it. No more teasing.” The older man sighed, like giving up his hobby of finding the perfect words to mock his former subordinate was one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life, before dropping the backpack to the ground, the one uncovered eye set on Yggdrasil. “Tonight is the night.”

“Yep.”

“Will you be ready?”

Was he ready? He didn’t know. But the magic inside of him seemed to quiver, tug him towards the mighty tree. It wanted to return to its well, escape out of the mortal confines it didn’t belong to. Yamato spread his fingers and let the magic inside him take over.

A small sprout instantly began to grow at their feet. With each second, the sprout grew, blossomed with tiny white flowers, reached the height of their knees, only to bloom into the purest, whitest lily Yamato had ever seen. The petals opened, revealing the pure golden nectar inside and an almost sickly-sweet scent whiffed around his nose.

“It is the right thing to do,” he simply said, “this magic… wasn’t mine to begin with.”

“And still. You mastered it. Perfected it. It was a miracle.”

“Bastardized it,” he retorted, “defiled it. Kakashi, I was a miracle because 59 other children died before me. I was the lucky one who got away. Yggdrasil’s lifeblood isn’t supposed to run through the veins of a mere human.” Again, his eyes flew up to the mighty crown, hiding the sky and the last bits of sunlight from them. “I may not be ready, but it’s the right thing to do. It… feels right.”

The thief mustered him for a bit longer. Then, Kakashi sighed into his mask. “Well, seems I can’t change your opinion. At least I can tell Tsunade-sama now I tried everything.”

Yamato chuckled. “Really big effort there.”

“I never told her that I would try hard. Come on,” he got up and turned away from Yggdrasil, “Let’s break up the fight between them. From here on, it’s just a waiting game and I don’t intend to wait while Naruto whines about the one or two broken fingers he received from wrestling with Sakura.”

The hours passed quickly as they set up the tents and cooked a good, hearty meal. Occasionally, a monster showed up, but like Yggdrasil extended its protection today even to intruders, the minotaurs and dryads and wyvern slinked away into the darkness of the surrounding trees. Thankfully. Even though their group was strong enough to take those monsters on, Yamato felt that it wouldn’t be right to spill blood this close to the source of the forest’s magic power.

Slowly, the faint sunlight reaching through the branches faded away and left them in total darkness. Only the campfire continued to flicker, the flames dancing to the awakening sounds of the monsters roaming through the underwood. Howls and yelps, screams and gruff grunts. Every sound made the younger members of their team flinch like a mage fired lightning spells at them. Naruto tightened the grip around his weapon, eyes flickering around; Sasuke constantly held onto his magic and his staff, knuckles white and neck tense; and Sakura’s sea green eyes constantly flew from one side of the camp to the other, like she expected a beast to instantly appear out of the dark when she would turn her head.

Kakashi was lazing around, masked face burrowed in one of his romances, but even he was the tiniest bit more tense than usual.

Only Yamato was relaxed to the bone. Yggdrasil watched over them. The foreign magic sung in his blood the higher the moon rose. The melody told of trees older than time, of saplings growing into new life, of the never-ending circle of birth and death.

To never hear the whisper of this magic again… It had scared Yamato before, when the magic started to move on its own, but this fear was now gone. No, now he was calm and ready to give up what was never his own to begin with.

Like he said to Kakashi: he maybe didn’t feel ready, but it was the right thing to do.

Briefly before midnight, the magic urged him to stand up. He followed, and his steps carried him over to the wide tree without him having to move them. Something else took over, with a more powerful and vaster will than anything else he ever encountered.

The voices of his comrades echoed over the clearing. With a little wave, Yamato calmed them. “It’s alright,” he said, “just… Just stay back!”

He nearly added that this… this pagan ritual wasn’t for everyone, wasn’t for _them_. This was between him and Yggdrasil, and no one else would understand the sheer knowledge and connection which formed. And the bond grew stronger with every second the moon rose higher.

Yamato reached Yggdrasil. He looked up, his bland robes billowing behind him. A gust of wind ruffled through his hair as he raised his hand, again led by the magic inside of him. Unlike usual, his magic didn’t diminish, but seemed to expand, grew into something more than before.

When he touched the bark, light exploded inside his mind. Yamato was sucked _inside_, inside his body, turned into himself and outside of his body.

“Aah, you're the next one?”

A warm, happy voice. Yamato blinked, tried to see through clearer in the blinding light surrounding him. Wasn’t there a shadow coming towards him? Indeed, a shadow. The shadow of a man at whose sight Yamato could feel himself growing weaker, falling to his knees.

The god king Hashirama. Nobody could mistake the smiling man for anyone else. Hell, his face was engraved into every gold piece in the entire continent!

“My dear friend! Stand up, please! There’s no need for unnecessary pleasantries.”

“You’re Hashirama,” Yamato stammered, squeezing his eyes shut, “the first king who united the entire continent beneath him. You defeated the demon Madara, you fought back the orc army from the south! It is only natural to bow down to you.”

He probably would’ve continued to ramble on (_Hashirama! His magic was so strange and all-encompassing, so similar yet different to his own!_), but then, a strong hand closed around his shoulder. Yamato’s head flinched up, meeting Hashirama’s warm brown eyes.

“There’s no need for this,” with the same gentle hardness of a tree growing despite the storm hailing down around him, the other man helped him up, “in here, we’re equals. You were also chosen.”

“Chosen? By whom?”

Hashirama’s laughter was infectious. “Yggdrasil, of course!” He waved around, gestured to the light and feeling of _belonging_ surrounding them. “This entity usually gives an individual a part of its magic in exchange for, well, their loyalty.”

His loyalty? To a tree? Yamato’s head swirled, swam and reeled with the questions; all questions which Hashirama apparently could read from the tip of his nose.

“Yggdrasil isn’t just a tree,” he said, his big hand heavy on his shoulder, “it’s an entity, a lower god, if you want. And as a lower god, Yggdrasil chooses champions. Champions who are allowed to hold its magic, act in its name.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Yamato asked.

Hashirama chuckled. “Believe me, I’m just as clueless as you. Usually, a task will show itself if you just keep your eyes open. For me, it was obvious what I had to do. For you?” The god king shrugged, the mirth and amusement still clearly visible on his face. “Maybe not so much.”

“But… Why me? I stole Yggdrasil’s power, it wasn’t given to me by the tree, it was given to me by Oro-!”

An earthquake seemed to shake the room. Hate flooded into the room, massive and gigantic rage, fueled by the loss of something which wasn’t supposed to be taken.

Hashirama grimaced. “We don’t really like that name here. Yggdrasil is still miffed someone found a way to get through the bark and take some of its resin.”

‘Miffed’ was a little understatement. Yggdrasil harbored a deep seeded hate against Orochimaru, and Yamato didn’t want to be in the close proximity of the ruthless scientist when the world tree managed to get its revenge. Something inside him told him that Orochimaru’s fate wouldn’t be pretty.

Hashirama continued, voice still light with amusement, but also heavy with the resolution of the decades which laid between them. “I won’t lie, being Yggdrasil’s champion isn’t easy. I don’t know what it saw in you nor can I predict what you will encounter on your way. But the world tree isn’t wrong in its judgement. Trust yourself. Trust your magic.”

“My…?”

“Yes, yours.” Hashirama nodded. “Your magic. Until death comes for you, it will be yours. Just like it has been mine, and just like it has been the magic of every champion before you. You belong to us, and we belong to you. We are one.”

Yamato felt like puking. Like… like his heart wanted to leap out of his chest, like his lungs didn’t move properly, like his tongue got glued to the ceiling of his mouth by an especially daring pixie. This was… too much. Too much information at once, too many emotions boiling up and spilling over.

Before he could either protest or say anything, the god king perked up, listening to an inner voice. His face scrunched up into a little pout, before he rolled his eyes and broke into a wide, happy grin again. “Unluckily, our time is up for now. For today, at least. I’m looking forward to your actions, Yamato.”

“God king, I-!”

“Please,” a last squeeze of his shoulder, then Hashirama faded back into the light, the aura of Yggdrasil, “call me Hashi. All my friends do that.”

It was like being forced under icy water, only to be pulled out of it again. A gasp, eager for air and clarity, forced its way out of his lungs. Another sharp inhale, and Yamato found himself kneeling against Yggdrasil, hand still touching the bark and forehead leaning against the world tree.

The magic was still there. Still thrumming through his veins. Still his. Gently, Yamato flexed his fingers against the bark. The answer came almost instantly. A ripple, like a stone thrown into a calm lake, resonating within his very being. So, it was true. He and Yggdrasil were connected.

“Yamato?” The voice of Naruto carried over the clearing, followed by the boy running towards him. The rest of their team followed. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” the first word came out as a raspy whisper, so he cleared his throat and tried again, “yeah! Everything is alright! I’m… I’m good.”

“Thank the gods!” Sakura stopped right before him, already in the motion of sinking to her knees to heal him if necessary. Her white robes not one bit smeared with the troubles of the last week, still of a clear white and the same sea-green of her eyes. “You just collapsed! Sure you are alright? Do you feel lightheaded? I read somewhere the Yggdrasil can produce fog which creates hallucinations and illusions to fool people who come to close-!”

“It’s not like that.” Yamato waved her off. Still leaning against the tree, he struggled to get onto his feet, robes feeling too tight despite their light fabric and wide fit. “The… Yggdrasil. Yggdrasil didn’t take my magic back like I thought.”

“Oh?” Kakashi grinned beneath his mask. “What did he do then?”

Another look up into the crown. There. Far, far away, hidden in the green of the leaves and brown of the branches, wasn’t there the face of Hashirama winking at him?

It was too far away to safely say so.

“I know now what I am.” Yamato said, silently, more to himself than to the others. His thoughts were already going towards the other information Hashirama bestowed upon him. A quest. His quest. A mission he would fulfil in the name of Yggdrasil.

Yes, that he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chisie, you damn great human being you! Thank you so much for beta-reading!!!


	6. Sixth Prompt: Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a long time, Yamato searched for a hobby to take his mind off things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My take on Yamato finding a new hobby and how he feels about it. 
> 
> (Also, showcasing that anyone is allowed to be bad at their hobby and that doesn't stop them from having fun.)

For a very long time, Yamato had searched for something which would get his mind off things. Kind of. He went through the usual ones – reading, cooking, listening to music, such things – without sticking to anything for too long. When Yamato picked up a book, sooner or later he would doze off or sigh inwardly at the stupidity of the characters. Cooking was also out of the question in an attempt to relax. It reminded him too much of cooking simple meals in the safety of a camp, far outside the safety range of Konoha, of switching guards, of sudden attacks, of constantly being on guard. Not exactly relaxing material. And listening to music…

Well, he had an unlucky first run-in with a band that screamed more into the mic, which in return reminded him too much of the screams on a battlefield than anything else, so Yamato was hesitant to start another experiment.

On the day he brought back the CD to the shop, his eyes flitted over to the store right across the street. In simple, bright letters, the words “Knit-Away” were drawn on the sign above the entrance door, rimmed with knitted pom-poms in a wide array of colors.

_Well, trying wouldn’t hurt_.

(He was desperate at this point.)

That was how Yamato found himself inside the store, surrounded by shelves stacked with different kinds of yarn. Sheep wool, alpaca wool, merino wool, cashmere, silk from silkworms (probably the Aburame had their hands in this trade), plant-based fibers like Hemp, Cotton and Bamboo. On each shelf was a small card, reading different strengths of yarn, such as “Lace”, “Fingering”, “Sport”, “Worsted” and “Bulky/Chunky”. And all the different colors. The entire rainbow and a few more shades were represented in the shop. The standard colors like red, yellow, orange, green, blue, purple, brown, black, beige, mauve, but also more interesting ones. Yamato’s eyes feasted on the lush, deep emerald green, the intense and fiery scarlet red, the fascinating and even alluring indigo, or the wide and vast royal blue. He still tried to take everything in, head turning rapidly and looking around, when a soft voice called for his attention.

“Shinobi-san? Can I… help you with anything?”

A woman stood behind the register. She wore a knitted apron, hell, even a knitted name tag was added to the masterpiece, spelling out the name “Fuji” in clear cursive writing. Quickly, Yamato analyzed her, measuring her ability in battle and if she was a shinobi herself or not. It was hard to tell. Her scarred hands spoke of many hard battles and horrendous injuries, her relaxed, unguarded stance spoke otherwise. Her eyes were clear and open, without a hint of malice, but the many wrinkles in her face told of many years of hardship. She was an enigma, and Yamato only slowly stepped closer, still wary and carefully assessing her chances of attacking (the usual process whenever he met someone new in a confined space).

“Hello,” he said, taking another step towards the register, “I was wondering if you offer courses…?”

Fuji blinked merely, hands still folded on the register. There, a pair of bamboo knitting needles and a long, wooly _something_ in the making. Yamato took another step closer and her eyes flitted quickly over his body.

Yes, she had to be a shinobi. Retired, but still wary.

“Courses?” she echoed. “What courses, shinobi?”

“Beginner’s class. For knitting.”

“Can’t handle a pair of needles?”

“Not the pair I think of.”

“So, you want to learn how to knit?”

“Correct.”

“Out of interest or lost a bet?”

Confusion at the strange question rose inside his mind. “Why would a lost bet mean I come into this shop?”

Fuji grumbled something under her breath, before she sighed. “You don’t know how many men come inside my shop and make fun of knitting. It’s apparently a terribly feminine hobby to take up.”

She didn’t wait for Yamato. Her hoarse voice (_too much ash and smoke in her past?_) carried easily over the shuffling and slight creaking of the wooden boards beneath her feet as she walked around the register. “To answer your question, no, I don’t offer courses. Neither for beginners nor advances classes. I do offer though some easily understandable books which explain the different stitches and yarns for starters, as well as some knitting needles which are easy to handle and some balls of yarn which should turn into some nice projects, no matter what you want to make first.”

A noticeable limp distorted her walk as Fuji hurried through her territory, picking up a few balls of yarn, a pair of needles and hurried over to one of the shelves which wasn’t packed with wool, before Yamato could do more than blink in surprise. “I suppose you don’t have any allergies you are aware of, otherwise you might have started to sneeze and cry as soon as you entered the shop. I had a pretty big delivery of wool today and the boy who came in was a clumsy idiot. Emptied out the box right on the doorstep. For the start, needles made out of wood or bamboo are better because wool isn’t slipping so easily off them. Makes working at your first project easier. Wood or bamboo?”

“Uhm… Wood.”

“Any preferences in color? Do you have an idea what you would like to knit?”

“A scarf…? Maybe? And no, not yet. I’m afraid I don’t understand much of color compositions.”

“Only a few shinobi actually do understand how to mix up other colors than black, grey and red. So, no worries about that one. A scarf is always a good, safe project for the beginning. Do you want a pattern? Maybe simple stripes?”

“Stripes sound good.” To be honest, Yamato was a bit overwhelmed. Fuji didn’t hesitate one bit, moved with the efficiency of a jonin who prepared to invade enemy territory. Despite her limp, she almost made no sound as she raffled quickly through the bookshelf, tugged out two books and returned to the register.

“I have here,” she dropped all the materials on the surface and rounded the corner, “two skeins of medium-thick wool in both light blue and gumdrop green, a pair of wooden needles, a book about recommended patterns and how to make them and a general beginner’s guide for knitting. Perfect material to get started on a scarf. If your scarf gets two long for these two skeins,” she patted the yarn in an affectionate way, like she needed to remember the feeling of the wool with her fingers alone, “you can buy more from me. I will put some under the counter here, just in case.”

“Thank you very much.” He reached for his wallet, inside his flak vest. “How much?”

“Because I’m generous, I will make it a round price of twenty bucks.”

Yamato paid for his new purchases and watched how Fuji bagged them into a tiny package, perfectly balanced to carry under one arm. At the time, he was a bit hesitant, especially because he was left without any real guidance except for the two books, but, he figured, somehow he would figure out what to do. A scarf really wasn’t too complicated. Right?

Oh, how wrong he was.

He really tried. Tried to learn from the books, one balanced on the pillow cushions of his armchair, the other opened in his lap. Tried to coordinate the strange, slippery fiber in a strange, complicated pattern around the needles to start off with his scarf. Tried to count the rows and tie the blue into the green. But somehow, the wool didn’t want to follow his movements. It slipped from the needles or suddenly grew into an uncontrollable knot. His fingers were too thick and clumsy, trying desperately to handle the yarn and making it stick to the needles. Not to talk about the disaster when he connected the blue yarn to the green to make the indeed much more complicated pattern of green-blue-green-blue and so on and so forth.

After three days, Yamato told himself that it wasn’t a disgraceful defeat when he went into the store again, in a small bag the first few rows of attempted scarf and the two almost untouched skeins of wool. Fuji only raised an eyebrow when the bell over the door chimed and he stepped inside, but she had other customers which she showed one of her newest discoveries on the wool market.

“Merino wool,” she just said and handed the elderly woman her own skein while carrying some more in the most varying shades of white, “is really soft, but less itchy than normal wool. And this one comes from the Land of Tea, very high quality. Just feel the soft texture and the colors are exceptional. You won’t find this grade of color with normal wool, believe me.” To compare, she held up a similar skein of white right beside on of the highly praised Merino wool skeins. Yamato saw no difference, but the elderly woman oohed and aahed while readjusting her glasses.

“And what can I do for you today?” Fuji asked after the customer left the store, proud owner of three brand-new skeins of “pearl-white” Merino wool, "Did you already go through your yarn?”

“No, I’m afraid,” Yamato was almost ashamed to show his pitiful attempt at knitting to her, but he did still, “I just don’t seem to get a grasp of it.”

“I can see.” Fuji didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smile. Her scarred fingers quickly plugged the needles and scarf out of his, counting the rows and readjusting the yarn over the needles. She clicked her tongue when reaching the miscounted row and the askew break of green and blue. “Aah. Another click of her tongue. “I see what happened. Don’t worry, it happens.”

Before Yamato could do more than exhale, Fuji was already in the middle of fixing his mistake. The needles clicked together at a rapid speed, her fingers nimble and as swift as the wind, probably a leftover skill from her active time as a shinobi. She even spoke up while doing so, expertly counting the rows again and nodding to herself before tying in the blue yarn. “It’s a very good first attempt. I can see that you obviously tried. The beginning is a bit rough, but the next rows are fine.”

Like that, Fuji explained with a few words where Yamato could improve and do more, how he could be better than before. Armored with her advice, he went home and tried again, and for a few rows and hours, everything was fine. He even managed to change back to green on his own, but when it came to ending the scarf, Yamato just couldn’t do it. Either his fingers were again too thick and clumsy or the yarn stubbornly decided not to be able to be tied into a knot like a living, breathing thing.

Again, he made the trip to the store. This time, Fuji snorted when he came in and tied the knot in less than ten seconds.

“Well, well, well…” She laid out the scarf on the register, her fingers gliding over the wool with ease. “A solid first project.”

“Really?” He couldn’t believe it. There, tangled knots all over the place, he lost his patience a few times and threw the darn thing into a far away corner, only to pick the needles and wool up again after a few ashamed seconds in which Yamato realized that _pouting_ at the scarf wouldn’t fix his clumsiness, and neither would throwing away the half-finished scarf do more than make him look like a child throwing a temper-tantrum.

“Yeah.” She pointed at the few rows he had done in a state of “too tired to care much”, after an intense training session with Kakashi-san and Gai-san. “These are pretty neat. Plus, towards the end, the change between colors became better and smoother. You practiced a lot, I can see that much.”

All Yamato could see was a knotty, too thin (only five or six centimeters, he hadn’t even noticed in his haze of knitting away), clumpy and clumsily tied together piece of wasted wool.

“You know,” For the first time, a little smile graced Fuji’s features, “I bet the next project will be even better. You got the gist now. Maybe you can try to add pom-poms?”

That was how Yamato continued to knit. Every other week, he would visit the store and have a little talk with Fuji, who soon started to smile more and greet him whole-heartedly. In her store, the shinobi would either rummage through the already present yarn, marveling at the different colors and possibilities of combining two different yarns, or would listen to Fuji who would patiently explain to him how to knit a particular complicated pattern, or even show him how to knit a pair of gloves, when there was nobody in the store.

It was fun. Just casual, nice, calming fun. Yamato liked the atmosphere of the store, the silence and the occasional customer who would mostly quickly pick up some special orders and leave again, just as well as the soft clicking-sounds of the needles when he would work in the solitude of his own home. The feeling of making something with his own two hands which didn’t require chakra and was creative in its own right was a good feeling.

Even when he didn’t get better. The needles were just as stubborn as when he started, the yarn, no matter how thick it was, would slip through his fingers, and he would constantly end up with socks which were askew (one ended at his ankle, the other went up halfway his shin). A hat he tried to knit when fall came over Konoha (Fuji handed him light brown and fiery red yarn, the same color of the leaves outside) was more pom-poms than hat, the yarn would sometimes almost jump from the needles and Yamato had to wiggle over painstaking hours the project he worked on back onto the needles, there would be always a little fault or crook in the fabric through a little mishap he couldn’t explain and sometimes he would fall asleep while knitting. By far, the things he produced while knitting would never get a price. They weren’t pretty nor useful, told of the many hours he put into his hobby without achieving anything or bettering himself.

But it was still fun. Knitting calmed Yamato down. The small, repetitive motions, the sounds of the needles, counting the rows, searching through the store, feeling the softness of Alpaca yarn and talking with Fuji about the next idea, all these things made him relaxed and happy.

Exactly what a hobby should do.

In the end, Yamato realized that a hobby is just a fun thing to do in between. He didn’t need to be good at it. He didn’t need to excel at it. Hell, he was allowed to be a clumsy adult who barely was able to knit a straight row of a short scarf, but he had fun doing so. It was fun to knit, even when he couldn’t do it well. It was only his hobby, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chisie, you awesome person. I don't have any more words for you to express how grateful I am for you! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread - as always! - by my awesome friend Chisie! I'm sorry that I'm swamping you so much with my writing lately T^T


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